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He nodded once, muscles flexing in his jaw.
Angela laughed. She couldn’t help it. The way his eyes narrowed dangerously told her it wasn’t a welcomed sound. “Your goons tossed a bag over my head and locked me in the trunk,” she reminded him when she had herself under control. “I’m not helping you with shit.”
He took a deep breath, as if striving for patience. “I regret the means—” he began, only to be interrupted by a man running into the room.
“Roman! He’s getting worse,” the man said, looking scared.
“Bring her!” Vincenzo Romano commanded before sprinting out of the room.
A strong grip on her upper arm forced her to walk across the corridor and into a room that looked suspiciously like an infirmary or a doctor’s office. The crime boss was standing with his back to her by a hospital bed. The goon dragged her closer, and her medical side took over. She shook off the hand holding her and moved toward the man on the bed. He was young, perhaps in his early twenties, and incredibly pale. He was also unconscious, and his breathing was labored.
“What happened?” she demanded, beginning a visual triage.
“He was shot,” Roman told her, frowning down at the man. “It was a through and through. Our usual physician patched him up and assured us he would be fine. About an hour ago, he began to have trouble breathing, and his blood pressure dropped.”
Angela listened to the explanation, checking the man’s heart rate with two fingers against his inner wrist. Finding his pulse rapid, she moved her gaze down, lifting the sheet. His chest was bare save for a dressing on the right side of his abdomen and some alarming bruising spreading out from beneath the bandage.
“How long ago was he shot?” she asked, rolling the man carefully onto his side. She noted another dressing on his back, slightly higher than the wound on his front. The bullet clearly had not traveled straight.
“About ten hours,” Roman replied.
Angela’s head whipped up. “Ten hours? Are you the ones responsible for the bullet-riddled bodies brought into my ER over the last day?” she demanded.
She didn’t have all the details, but there had been some kind of shootout on the streets—a turf war or something. And the hospital had been slammed with patients. Two men had died before making it to the ER.
Roman’s face remained blank as he crossed his arms over his chest. “How he was shot doesn’t matter. Just fix him.”
Angela shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way. I don’t have x-ray vision. I can’t see what’s going on inside of him. He could have internal bleeding, broken ribs that caused a bone shard to puncture a lung or enter his bloodstream... anything. Call an ambulance.”
“We can’t,” Roman stated.
“Then take him to the hospital yourself,” Angela insisted.
“We can’t do that either,” Roman told her.
Angela glanced at him. “Because you’ll be arrested.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Because it would end in more bloodshed,” Roman corrected, frowning down at her from his considerable height. “That’s why.”
“And because I made them promise not to take me.”
Angela looked down, finding the young man awake. His eyes were a startling blue in direct contrast to his dark-brown hair and eyebrows.
“I’m... Luca,” he said slowly.
“Luca.” Angela’s smile was strained. “I’m Dr. Angela Hawthorne. I’m not going to sugarcoat it; you look to be in critical condition. You need to go to the hospital.”
“Can’t...” Luca said. Only this time, his words were more gasp than anything else.
“Don’t speak, mio fratello. All will be well. I promise,” Roman vowed. He smiled at Luca, setting down the hand he had been gripping tightly. He nodded once to the man hanging onto Luca’s other hand on the opposite side of the bed, drawing Angela’s attention to him.
He looked older than Luca, perhaps in his late thirties. He had brown hair that was pulled back in a messy bun, and his dark-brown eyes were red-rimmed. He kissed Luca’s hand tenderly and gave a strained smile. “Rest, okay?”
Luca nodded, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Love... you.”
“I love you too,” the man replied, brushing Luca’s sweaty bangs off his forehead.
It was clear they were a couple. And a cute one at that, Angela thought. Despite the circumstances, she didn’t want to see that love die. Luca needed more medical intervention immediately. She cleared her throat, digging deep for her usual compassionate bedside manner. “Excuse me, mister...?”
